Last Chance
by Do Not Even Try
Summary: He has eight months to live, & all he wants before he dies is to fall in love. Sometimes that's harder then it sounds, especially when the only person that ever had his heart has standards. Standards he is determined to learn to fill, no matter what.
1. The Start

**A/n: Hola :) yes, I know I don't need to be posting another story now. But I couldn't write more on anything else I have because this was swirling around my mind. Anyway, I hope you like it. **

♥♥♥

"But why?" She whines as she stamps her foot.

I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath. I put my drop-dead gorgeous smile on and look at her.

"Macy…darling, sugarlump…it's not that there's anything wrong with you, you're just not what I need right now."

Her teary eyes brighten at that statement as if she just found a way to change my mind. Ha, good luck.

"But I can be what you need! Just tell me! Do-do you want me to be a singer? Waitress? French maid? Stewardess? Your wife?"

That last one sounded so hopeful coming out of her mouth. What a _loser._

"No, Macy, you can't," I say in a resigned voice as if this hurts me too, "I just don't feel the same way about you now, I hope you can understand."

She screams. Yes, she _scream__ed._ I sigh again. She's one of the more attached one.

"Macey bear, these last few weeks have been a dream. But sometimes in a man's life he drifts away from the one he loves."

She hiccups. I wrap my arm around her and lead her out of the lobby of the fancy French restaurant we'd just ate at and into the limo.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asks. I take her hand and stroke it with my thumb,

"Of course, honey. You may see me on the Oscars…or in a upcoming movie…or most likely on the cover of a magazine. Not to mention, you'll have the pictures."

She hiccups again. God, I just can't wait until she's gone.

"I m-meant in p-person!" She cries.

"Only if you have access to the internet and an extra thousand to buy a backstage ticket to _Baby, I'm home_." I state as I try to ignore the now mental picture of her running into the set of my new TV series crying saying she wants me back. How irritating would that be!

"You won't come see me ever again?!" She screams. I wince and stroke her cheek,

"I'm leaving New York in a few days so I won't have time to fly over and see you."

"We've arrived at Ms. Brown's house." The chauffeur's voice rang out over the intercom as the limo came to a stop.

Something-or-another Brown(Wait! I think it might be Mallory!) sniffs and looks up at me, pitifully.

"Are you sure?" She croaks.

"Yes, I am. I'll see you later, Mallory." I reply as I lean in to kiss her goodbye. She pulls away.

"Breanna!" She wails, "Its Breanna!"

"I knew that! Mallory is just your nickname!"

"You've never called me Mallory!"

I take a deep breath and say, "I'll see you around, _Breanna_"

She nods and climbs out of the limo, crying. As the door shuts all I can mutter is,

"Adios, _Breanna_."

"Where to now, Mr. Ryan?" My chauffer asks.

"Home I believe." I reply. Then I think that over, "Or…just drop me off here."

"What?!"

"Here, I said." I snap.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I feel like walking."

"You are not walking around in the dark! Are you insane!"

"No! Just let me out dammit."

"No. I will not let you out. I don't know what's going on with you Mr. Ryan but you are not yourself."

"I am tired. I have insomnia." I defend myself.

He shakes his head, "You are coming home where I'm going to talk with your mother about bringing you to a therapist."

I feel anger rise in me as I glare at him.

"I don't think so!"

And with that, I threw open the moving limo door and threw myself out into the night. Then, everything went black.

**A/n: Like it? Loathe it? Then click it! And his rash and irrational behavior is purposely there :)  
**


	2. Excuse Me?

**A/n**: **Another chapter... this story is so different for me it's not even funny. but uh so yea..thanks for the reviews and I hope you like this chapter...I don't know if I do but it is the beginning of the story so only time will tell. I hope you like..  
**

Being unconscious is a funny thing.

The whole time I was supposedly unconscious, I was in a meadow. Not physically, but mentally. The strange thing was, all I did in the meadow was lay there and look up at the sky. Sometime while I was in the meadow Macy/Mallory/Breanna (whatever!) came stumbling halfway down the hill, then disappeared. But other than that, I was pretty much just staring at the clouds.

And the next thing I know, a bright light is shinning in my eyes and my head hurts like _hell. _I was also vaguely aware that the nurse hanging over me was rather attractive.

I open my eyes all the way, only to have to shut them again because the lights. As my eyes slowly adjust to the lights, I feel the pain in my head worsen. I can see my mother sitting the chair beside my hospital bed, and dad stirring a cup of coffee. They are both crying. Mom, I want to say, it's alright…I'm awake now. But I can't sleep.

"Mom?" I croak out. She jumps two feet in the air. Literally. She let's out a sob and covers her mouth as her body shakes with tears. The nurse runs out calling for a doctor. I am dazed and confused. Mom throws her arms around me and kisses me. Something is wrong.

A few moments later, an old doctor enters the room. His eyes widen as he sees me. He rushed over to my bed and mom moves out of his way.

"Can you hear me?" He asks me.

"Yes," I try to say, but all I do is make a funny noise. I nod.

He holds up five fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

I stare at him. "Five." I manage to croak out.

He points at my mom's orange shirt, "What color is that?"

"Orange." I reply. Talking is getting easier.

"What is your name?"

"Jake Ryan."

"Who is this?" He points at my dad.

"My father." I reply.

"His name is?"

"Stephan Ryan."

"Can you move your head for me?" I struggle and move my head side to side. It hurts.

"Can you wiggle your fingers on both hands?" I do so and nod.

"How about your toes?"

"Yes."

"If I told you your dog died what emotion would you show?"

"Uhh…sadness…" I reply. I am starting to wonder about all these questions.

"Right. What does this room smell like to you?"

Bleach, I thought. But I settled with, "Clean. It smells clean."

He sighs and sits down in a chair. I don't understand; I thought I answered those questions well!

"Any pain anywhere?"

"My head," I reply, "and my legs are a little sore."

He nods and says, "Do you think you feel well enough to sit up?"

I don't feel that bad, so I nod.

"Ride in a wheelchair?"

"Sure, why not."

He seems to be arguing with himself, but settles it by calling a nurse to being a wheelchair. A few minutes later I am sitting in a wheelchair, and I'm so confused.

"How long have I been out?" I ask.

"About a month. You turned 22 last week." He replies.

"A month?!" I exclaim as best as I can. He nods and says to me,

"Mr. Ryan…do you know what the word Prion is?"

I stare at him blankly, "Should I?"

He shakes his head and lets out a weak laugh, "A Prion is a protein that folds abnormally. It encourages all the other proteins to fold into irregular shapes, which affects their ability to function correctly."

I wait, so he continues.

"Transmissible spongiform encephalopathy diseases are believed to be caused by Prions. Do you know what those are?"

Of course I don't! I'm not a walking medical dictionary!! I am feeling worried, why is he telling me this? Does this involve me?!

"No, of course not."

"They are a group of progressive conditions that affect the brain and nervous system of humans and animals and are transmitted by prions. Mental and physical abilities deteriorate and myriad tiny holes appear in the cortex causing it to appear like a sponge (hence 'spongiform') when brain tissue obtained at autopsy or biopsy is examined under a microscope. The disorders cause impairment of brain function, including memory changes, personality changes and problems with movement that worsen over time."

I stare at him with my heart beating rapidly in my chest. I don't understand! What is he saying!?

"They include Gerstmann-Sträussler-Scheinker syndrome, Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, fatal familial insomnia and Kuru in humans, as well as bovine spongiform encephalopathy commonly known as mad cow disease, chronic wasting disease, and scrapie in sheep."

I am getting mad. What do sheep have to do with me?! "Excuse me, but what does this have to do with me?" I ask him. He doesn't ask me, he just goes on.

"Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease is a very rare and incurable degenerative neurological disorder that is ultimately fatal. Among the types of transmissible spongiform encephalopathy, it is the most common."

"What the hell is a degenerative neurological disorder?!" I yell at him.

"A brain disease."

What is he saying?! I do not understand! I don't have a brain disease! I'm perfectly fine!

"So what exactly are you saying?" I ask him in a shaking voice.

"It is a very rare—

"Damn it! Just get to the point!" I holler at him. My hands are shaking.

He closes his eyes briefly and sighs.

"My. Ryan, you have sporadic Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease."

I can not breathe. I stare at him. The room is spinning. My hands are shaking. I am terrified. The only thing I can hear is his words ringing in my ears: _Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease __is a very rare and incurable __degenerative __neurological disorder__ that is ultimately fatal__…_

I can't have that! I am perfectly healthy! I am young! That's impossible.

"Excuse me?" Is all I can choke out. He sits down on a bench and rolls my wheelchair over beside it.

"The disorder itself is rare, occurring in about 1 out of 1 million people. It usually first appears in midlife, beginning between ages 20 and 70." He says quietly. At that point, One In A Million by Hannah Montana fills my head as I stare at him.

"It's incurable. We know of nothing to stop it from destroying your brain and killing you."

I feel something stabbing my body. That's not so, it can't be. I can't die. No, I can't! I Jake freaking Ryan!

"Sporadic you said…that one is curable isn't it?" I choke out.

He gazes sadly at me, "No. Sporadic is just the type it is. Sporadic CJD occurs for no known reason."

I can't accept that. I am not dying!

"I…how? How can I have this?!" I find myself yelling.

"No one knows for sure. Some believe it's prions."

"Well where the hell would I get prions from?!" I scream. My chest hurts. It hurts so bad. It's my heart. My heart is breaking. I'm dying. I can't be dying!

"Show me the evidence." I cry out.

"You had a brain biopsy done while you were unconscious about two weeks ago and the tissue showed CJD. We don't have it available to show, but it's there."

He is patient. I feel angry. He shouldn't be so patient. He should yell, throw something…

This isn't fair! Damn it! It isn't!

"So your saying that I'm going to die?" I whisper to him. He nods.

I don't know what to say. What do you say to that?

"How long." I find myself asking.

"Most people about seven or eight months. You'll be lucky to live for ten. Although, in some cases people have lived from one to two years after being diagnosed. But I would plan around eight months."

Eight months. I have eight months to live. That statement rang through my body painfully.

"What?" I cry as tears enter my eyes, "eight months? I don't…how…but…eight months?!"

He nods.

"There's no way to stop it?"

"No, I'm very sorry."

"What are the symptoms?"

"Personality changes, hallucinations, muscle twitching, muscle stiffness, nervous, jumpy feelings, changes in gait, lack of coordination -- stumbling, falling, speech impairment, poor enunciation (hard-to-understand speech or mumbling), sleepiness, deterioration in all aspects of brain function, profound confusion, disorientation…" He trailed off.

"I'm going to get all those?!"

"No. You could only get one, or maybe all. It all depends." He replied. I feel like throwing something.

"The cause of death is usually infection, heart failure, or respiratory failure." He states softly.

I punch the wall. I am furious.

"Usually I wouldn't tell you so soon...but your time is very precious." He states, then continues,

"It was caught early," he says, "so we can provide you with medication that might make the symptoms easier to control and allow you extra time."

"How much extra?"

"Like I said earlier…good cases a year or two."

"I am twenty-two! I want longer than that! It isn't fair!" I scream as fury takes over. I hit the wall repeatedly, each time harder and harder. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. The doctor is talking to me.

"Please, this won't be hard. We can make it—

"Not hard?! Tell me, what could you possibly do to make not dying hard?! I have so many things I want to do! So many people I want to see! I had plans! I don't want to die!" I yell.

He mutters something to a nurse that came over to assist.

"Come on Mr. Ryan, let's get you back to the room." She murmurs.

"I am not going back! I will not die in that hospital bed!" I yell at them both.

Next thing I know, my mother's arms are around me and she is rocking me back and forth. She doesn't tell me its okay, because it's not. It's not okay.

And it never will be again.

**A/n: Like it or leave it, just make sure to click it. Thanks again for the reviews!**


	3. Anna Gail

My mother is a very reserved person.

When you first glance at her, the first thing you see is her extremely long, platinum blond hair pilled on top of her head in a strict bun. No hair would be hanging in her face, and no hair would be sticking up. I used to think it was painted onto her head.

She wasn't always like that, though. I remember when her hair was long and flowing, and she wore bright summer dresses instead of black and tan suits. It was right after her mother, my grandmother, passed away that she got obsessed with work and her entire disposition changed. Work was something she could control; it was her safety blanket. She was in charge; she knew what was going to happen. She spent all her time in her office with crazy people, trying to cure them. When I was in high school, I used to sit in my room and wonder why she'd rather fix completely insane strangers then spend time with me.

And then there were those times when I came home in the early hours of the morning from partying all night or being with a current girlfriend. And she'd be there and I used to hate her. It seemed to me that she purposely wasn't there when I needed her, only there when I didn't want my mind picked apart, examined, then put back together completely.

She used to get so mad at me. She always knew where I was when I came home late, but I still denied it. If I was drunk and I threw up all over the carpet, I'd still deny it. When my ex-girlfriend announced at dinner that she was pregnant, but had gotten an abortion the previous day, I denied to my mom that I'd ever slept with her. We all knew I had, but admitting it would just make me feel worse about myself.

Of course, back then I was in a slump.

A never ending slump it had seemed. I got into drugs, drinking, smoking and late night partying. I was no longer in control of myself; I couldn't stop myself from doing these things. Every girl I had, every drink I drank, every drag I took just aided in the Fall of Everything.

The Fall of Everything was the explosion that happened when my mother caught me doing all of the said things. I figured since all the big wars in history have a name, ours should too. After all, it was absolutely horrific.

She had started it, really. She followed me to a party in her black BMW, and found out what she had wished wasn't true. When she'd first walked in, I was the buzz of the party. Well, Ashley Dewitt and I were. I could tell you what everyone was gossiping about, but it wouldn't matter. I can tell you what really happened, though. While Ashley and I took part in some sexual rendezvous', my mother snooped around down stairs getting the low down on what was going around at this party. She found there were drugs going on in the attic and that, yes; Jake Ryan was part of it. She found out there was a peg, and that I was in the bedroom upstairs with a girl. Let's just say, hearing my mother outside the door ruined any kind of mood we had set.

Later, when we in the car, she was absolutely _furious. _Normally when she's mad, she'll scream and scream and scream…

She wouldn't talk to me at all for a week. After the week was up, she started crying. She thought it was her fault that I resorted to all of those things. After she got past that phase, she went into Super Mom mode. I have guide lines set out. I couldn't stay out past seven P.M., I couldn't go anywhere except school and the set, I couldn't talk on the phone, I couldn't get on the computer, I couldn't watch TV.

I couldn't do anything. I was extremely pissed and I hated her again. I thought she was out to ruin my life. But still, it made me a little unnerved that she wouldn't talk to me. She just wouldn't. She'd told me my guidelines and that was it. I was mad, so I starting looking for ways to break all her rules.

Then my friend Andrew Bolden died.

He was high and drunk in the car with his girlfriend and he ran into another car. He killed his girlfriend, paralyzed a mother, and killed her newborn baby.

That could have been me; I had thought as I stared at his body at visitation, I could be responsible for the death of a baby and my girlfriend. I could have been a murderer, all because I wanted to get a little high.

The day I got back from the funeral, I started anew. That was senior year, a week from graduation. I realized that in order to start new, I needed to leave.

So I left.

I moved out the day after graduation. I went to New York City where I went to Juilliard. Everything was going extremely well (except giving up on girls…that I couldn't do too well)…until I got a call from my sister that my nephew was hit by a car. I was scared to death that's for sure. I flew home to Malibu to be with my sister, Anna Gail, and her son, Ethan. Even after Ethan was better, I stayed there with them. Anna Gail's husband had died one year ago when Ethan was eight, and needed some help as he grew older. I was happy to help my older sister, and that's where I've been ever since. Until I jumped out of the limo, of course.

♥-♥-♥-♥-♥-♥-♥

"Jake?"Anna Gail's voice calls above me. I open my eyes. She's standing there with a tear-streaked face. I got released yesterday, and she wasn't taking the news very well at all.

"Hey," I say softly as I sit up on the plush, red sofa. Ethan is playing video games in his room with his best friends Charlie and Sophie and screaming at the TV, or them, or maybe both.

Anna Gail fiddles with her hands as she sits down beside me. It's silent for a moment while the clock on the wall ticks loudly. She sniffs and she's wringing her hands like she always does when she's trying not to cry. I want to make her feel better, but I don't feel okay myself.

I hadn't cried that much. Mom said it's because I'm in denial, but I don't know. All I know is, I've got like eight months to two years to make up for seventy.

"Jake, I…" She stops again and chews the inside of her cheek, "what do I tell him? He adores you."

Ethan. She hadn't told him yet, and frankly, I didn't want her to have to.

"I don't know, Ann." I said as I leaned back and closed my eyes, "I think maybe I should tell him."

"He's already lost his father…now he has to lose his uncle too! It isn't fair...to him, to me. I don't want to lose you!" She was lightly sobbing. My sister and I were never exactly the best of friends, but as we got older we bonded more. She's my best friend now.

I hugged her warmly. A few moments later she sniffed and passed me a watery smile. Anna Gail wasn't a crier at all; it took a lot to make her cry. And even when she started, she finished fast.

"Everything's going to be alright," I felt the need to say.

She shakes her head and her red hair danced.

Anna Gail is adopted. She knew from the moment she was old enough to realize she looked nothing like our family. My mother has clear, tan skin, bright blue eyes, and light blond hair. My father has light blond hair, tan skin, and green eyes. I have blond hair, blue/green eyes and tan skin.

Anna Gail has deep red hair, pale (almost translucent) skin, her nose is sprinkled with freckles, and her eyes are an intense hazel. Her body built is different then ours, too. My mother stands at an astounding six-feet-two, my dad at six-feet-three, and me at around six feet. Anna Gail is five-four. While mom, dad, and I have a very boney build, Anna Gail has a more curvy build. While she wasn't overweight, she is larger then the actresses I worked with everyday.

But the fact she is adopted never bothered her. In fact, she felt it made her unique from everyone else. My sister is a very bright, sunny person. If she was a color, she'd be yellow. Or maybe orange. She can see the bright side for _anything. _Except this, as I was finding out. She was never close to mom, but was close to dad. Maybe it was because a few years back, Anna Gail had asked my mother about her real parents. Mom went insane, trying to dissect Anna to figure out why she wanted to know about them.

Our mother was quite the drama queen.

Her and Anna constantly rubbed shoulders over everything. But they loved each other, and that's all that really mattered. Or, that's what they said anyway. A few months back, Anna finally found out about her parents.

Her birth mother was sixteen when she had her. Ironic really because Anna was sixteen when she had Ethan. Her mother was poor and couldn't support a child. Her name was Marie Howard, and she never even got to see Anna after she birthed her. Anna used to joke about how she can remember when the doctor just pulled her out and covered her with a blanket and hid her until mom and dad got there.

Her birth father was unsupportive the moment he found out about Anna Gail. He abandoned Marie and that was that. I envied my sister. She had been through so much, but still stayed strong. She was my hero. When she found out about Ethan, she was strong about it. She sat down Carl, her boyfriend at the time, and our parents and told them all at the same time. Mother freaked out. No, freaked out was an understatement. She went insane. Dad wasn't happy, but he loved Anna Gail. He was there for her no matter what, as was I. Carl stayed with her until they turned eighteen, then they happily married. They had the real thing, I knew that from the moment Anna Gail first introduced us to Carl. Mom came around during the time Anna Gail was five months. Anna never complained about her feet, back, or anything. She always told me it was going to be worth it, and it was.

"Jake," she says to me. I look up at her.

"I'm scared," she says. Her saying that scared me. If Anna Gail could get scared, then I was supposed to be paralyzed.

"I think I might be," I say as I stare at the wall.

"You should get the best out of these eight months," her voice cracks at eight months, "you know, travel…see things, places, people."

I shrug, "I'd rather stay here with my family."

Her spirit sparks up again as she jumps up and flings her small arms out. She dances around the room and exclaims,

"You need to adopt a dog! Learn to speak pig Latin! Dance in the rain! Eat snail at some weird restaurant in France! Fall in love!" Her stops there and her arms fall her to her sides. She stares at me, waiting for my response.

She's right; I think as I look at her, I need to do all that and so much more! I can't just sit here for eight months! I've got to do something with the time I've got left!

I jump up and throw my arms around her, hugging her so euphorically that her feet leave the ground.

"You're so right, Anna!! I need to! I'm going to!" I exclaim.

She grins, happy again.

"Look on the bright side; you can waste all your money on pointless things."

So she really can find the bright side to _anything. _I knew she still wasn't happy though. I wasn't either, but I felt better. As if maybe I'll be able to die accomplished. I couldn't waste any time mourning for what I was going to lose either, my time is very precious.

The only problem with Anna Gail's list of things I should do is the last one.

I've only truly loved one person (still do, even, but I'll never admit it) and it's someone getting in touch with and getting her to love me back will take longer then eight months, probably ions.

Even as I knew it was impossible, her face came to my mind. Even if she didn't love me, I should be able to see her before I have to leave.

"First things first," I said to Anna Gail, "let's go to the dog pound!"


	4. White Wine

A/n: Sorry for the long wait. Lots of stuff going on, but I've got this story up and running again! So thanks for the reviews, and keep them coming. Remember the characters are supposed to be OOC, so don't flame me for that! It's hard to write this kind of plot line and keep them all in character. So yea, I hope you like it!

Oh, yea, and this chapter is in MILEY'S POV. It's basically just introducing what's going on with her while Jake is dying.

* * *

The sky is full of stars. 

I always knew there were stars. But before one was named after me, I just thought of them as beautiful lights in the sky. Even after I was named after one, they were still just something beautiful...something romantic. I never remembered just how many there were when there were no lights to obstruct my view. When I first got to the island, and noticed how clear the stars were, I tried to find myself in the stars. But there were billions, maybe trillions and maybe even more, stars in the sky and my star was just one. I'd always be one in a billion/trillion/whatever. And it wasn't always a good thing.

I take a sip of wine.

I'm laying out in the sand. It's warm and the waves are crashing up, touching my toes. The water's cold and tickles me with every caress. My older brother, Jackson, is laying beside me. He's quiet, and looking at the stars too. I glance up at him, and wonder what he's thinking. Is he thinking about how big the universe is also? About how many people there are, and how insignificant we can be? Or is he thinking about how those stars got there?

"Jackson?" I whisper. The word falls out of my mouth like a tumbling waterfall.

He looks over at me, eyebrows raised in questioning. He takes another drag of his cigarette and I inwardly cringe. I hate him smoking; it's repulsive. He's not addicted really...just smokes one ever now and then (at least, that's what he says). Still, though, I wish he wouldn't.

I open my mouth to ask him a question. I want to know what he's thinking. I want to know how he's feeling. I want to know a lot of things. I settle with: "What are you going to do now?"

Another drag. The cigarette is gone now, he pulls out another and lights it before answering.

"I don't know. Corrie Ann...she...I don't know." He takes a long drag. I can feel the emotions swirling all around us light static electricity. It's painful. I don't want to think...I don't want to feel...I don't want to live. I want to go to sleep and become numb. I want to sleep and forget my name, my pain, my everything. I want to forget why I want to forget.

I gulp down the rest of my wine. It burns going down, but leaves a nice, warm feeling all through my body. My mind is slightly hazy with the buzz. I fill my second glass of white wine.

"I guess I could send her to live with her grandmother," Jackson whispers, as if the idea was so horrible he was ashamed of thinking it. Which, it was. Corrie Ann's grandmother was a evil woman.

Another sip, another puff.

"You can't do that," I say, and we both know it. He plays with his lighter. He lights it, then extinguishes it. On, off, on, off, on, off. I watch it, as if it holds all our future on a thin wire.

"Well what can I do? Loreyn needs me here. Corrie Ann can't stay here, though. She can't watch her mother..." Jackson trails off, taking an extremely long drag that leaves him coughing.

I gulp down some more wine.

My sister-in-law is dying.

From breast cancer to be more descriptive. Jackson, her, and their daughter Corrie Ann flew down here to the Caribbeans to give Loreyn some peace and quiet for her final time. However, things were getting worse, and Jackson and I were frequently reminded of having to watch our own mother die from breast cancer all those years ago...

Neither of us wanted that for Corrie. But we didn't know what to do. Dad was off in Nashville, spending some much deserved time to himself. The only family Loreyn had was her mother who as I stated, is evil.

I shut my eyes. I can feel the way it felt to watch my mother slowly die...the pain of not being able to stop sub-consciously put a time sticker on her death. Every time I saw her, she was worse. And I'd always think "Oh, God, this is it. She couldn't possibly have more then a few months..." and when she finally did die, I forever felt guilty for thinking all those time estimations. As if somehow I had wished her to die...

"I'll take her with me," I blurt out. Jackson looks at me in surprise, and all I can do it drain my wine glass again. Fill it up, I tell myself shakily, just fill it back up. It'll get better soon. As long as I fill the glass up. I do it shakily. I need those hazy, thoughtless lines the liquor permits. I need to feel calm; to escape. I need the wine, almost as much as I need happiness. But the wine serves as liquid happiness substitute, and will work for now.

Corrie Ann doesn't really like me. Well, she just doesn't know me at all. I'm basically a stranger to the six year old. When she was born, I was on tour. Dad and I had to wait forever until we could finally met her (a month to be exact). I spent a year around her, then Jackson and Loreyn moved to Seattle, where Loreyn's from. They were only there for about two months when Loreyn was diagnosed with breast cancer. She fought it for three years. Through all those years, Hannah Montana was busier than ever and my work provided the blissful ignorance I needed to feel okay. Then, Loreyn was through with it. She refused any more treatment, and nothing we said could change her mind. I loved Loreyn, and I cried and cried for a month non-stop it seemed after she said that.

Her last wish was to go to the Caribbeans. So I loaned Jackson a lot of money, and he moved them out there for the remainder of Loreyn's life.

So needless to say, Corrie didn't really know me. I was just her famous, rich aunt that sent her presents all the time in the mail. I'd told my secret about two years ago, and I was told she bragged about me to her friends a lot, (My aunt is Hannah Montana and I can get her to sue you if you don't give me that!) but other then that I was just aunt Miley who bought her cool clothes and the occasional iPod and laptop. We'd never had a real conversation before, and here I was offering to let her move back to LA with me!

I took another sip of wine. And boy did I need it.

"What?" Jackson blurts out, as if it's more ridiculous than her going to leave with Evil Grandma Raine.

Another sip.

"Well," I set the glass back down on the smoothed out part of the sand and folded my hands underneath my head, "you don't want her here to witness what we had to...and she has no where to go...and I'm her rich aunt who buys her cool stuff. It just kind of fits..."

He gazes at me and sizes me up, seeing if I can handle this. I try to keep myself calm. Another sip, then another, then another. Another glass is poured. Another sip, another, another, another, another...

"No, you've had enough." Jackson takes away my bottle of wine. I protest. It's a bottle of Clos du Bios Calcaire Vineyard Chardonnay. Not the best, not the worst. It does what it needs to do, takes the sharp edge off the bad stuff. It doesn't taste too bad either. It's rich with that oakey flavor that most white wines have, but also has a citrus and apricot taste to it. It also has like a wildflower hint to it when you let the taste sizzle in your mouth for a few seconds.

Jackson thinks I'm an alcoholic, I think he's an addictive smoker. He says he only smokes one cigarette ever once on a while,I say I only have a glass of wine every once and a while with dinner. I'm not an alcoholic. I swear I'm not.

For one, I won't drink any kind of liquor. I'm into expensive white wines and that's it. Beer is repulsive, whiskey is too strong and smelly, gin is bitter, vodka hits you hard after only one sip, rum is just nasty, ever since I heard something about worms at the bottom of tequila bottles I won't touch it, and red wine is really strong also. All the other types of liquor I've never taken a sip of. I'll only swallow the sip of an alcoholic drink if I like it. Which means white wine is all that's ever hit this stomach. I'll drink the occasional wine cooler, but fine white wines are what I love.

Second, I don't drink _all the time._I don't go to sleep with a bottle by my bed, I don't hyperventilate if I don't have any thing to drink when I wake up Sunday. I just drink a few glasses every now and then when things get to be too bad to handle. That's all, I swear. Too bad swears are thrown around loosely lately.

"I don't know if she should." Jackson says, eying my empty wine glass. I groan in annoyance,

"I'm_not _an alcoholic, Jackson! Okay? I'm not!"

He has no other option, and he knows it. He nods once, firmly.

"Okay, I'll tell her now."

He stands up and brushes the sand off his pants. As he walks away, I realize he's forgotten my bottle. I grab it and pour another glass.

I'm going to need it.


	5. AN: Until a later time

**Author's Note: **

**This story is on permanent hiatus as of today (2/11/08). The reasons why and more information on that can be found in my profile. **

**Ciao! **


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